Appetite for One Hundred
by Cavallo Alato
Summary: The Avaricious never ceases to exist. He never stops desiring everything: He wants to forget and remember all at once. He wants to embrace and abandon everything that was ever meaningful in his life. A series of short drabbles centered around Greed and those affiliated with him. FMA Brotherhood. 100 Themes.
1. ten hungers

I haven't written anything for FMA yet...I feel like I should! So, a series of drabbles centered around Greed and anyone associated with him (including multiple points of views)

100 single word prompts, drabble challenges.

**Disclaimer: **FMA doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the goddess, Hiromu Arakawa.

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**.: Appetite for 100 :.  
**

_**ten hungers**_

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**1\. Seeking Solace**

He couldn't see the girl's face.

It wasn't because she had donned her mysterious mask, and it wasn't because his vision was clouded. But as he stared up the length of her automail limb, creaking with the weight of two men at arm's length, the only feeling that registered was the warm slip of Lan Fan's blood and tears trailing down his cheek.

A bullet whisked past Greed's shoulder, embedding itself in King Bradley's and loosening the man's grip. As soon as the other homunculus fell, his entire body began to quiver, wracked with a gut-wrenching disquiet. He could feel Ling's bottled emotions unraveling, the top unscrewing with each gasp as Lan Fan wrenched him back over the edge and onto firm ground.

_Contain yourself_, Greed cursed inwardly, hands balling into fists. With a start, he realized that they hadn't been his thoughts; Ling was unfolding his mental control, corner by corner. They all wanted what they couldn't have, didn't they? Isn't that what Greed always said? The homunculus pushed himself upright and scraped at the stone floor, gritting his teeth. Yet here he was, wishing he could for once get rid of something.

"Y-young lord," sputtered Lan Fan hoarsely.

"It's Greed," he managed to rasp. His tone was gentle, however, and it seemed to surprise the Xingese girl. She shook her head, so imperceptibly he would not have caught it if she hadn't leaned closer.

_Greed_.

He could no longer tell whose heart belonged to who.

_Greed, I—_

"Shut your trap," he hissed. Lan Fan touched his shoulder gently. "I know."

Ling's will seeped through his own, crawling little wisps of consciousness that Greed had a hard time discerning from himself. Lan Fan's hand seared a hole in his arm.

He let go.

**2\. Break Away**

At some point, he'd experienced the urge to whip around on old Fu and say,

"You're always breathing down my neck, Gramps!" as if the quiet, Xingese man had been following him around for a lifetime.

Greed didn't allow himself to be startled by this. Only slightly disgruntled, he folded his arms and held his tongue, dismissing the exchanged glances between Fu and his granddaughter. The silence was oppressive; the snap of branches under their careful tread filled the night.

Ling whistled softly to himself, diligently ignoring the outside world.

"Who's that?" asked the prince, dipping his finger in a pool of memory. It wrapped around his hand loosely, like fog. "A friend?"

The homunculus tersely shoved Ling's voice aside, shifting his gaze to his tattooed hand. Three pairs of feet padded gently down the dirt path, weaving steadily towards the town. Dimly, they spotted Edward Elric staring at the relit slums, occasionally peering back into the forest as if Pride might leap out at them again.

But the large earth trap said otherwise. The sun was peeking over the horizon; the day was starting, and Greed had taken the reins again.

"So her name is Martel?"

Greed grimaced and stopped in his tracks, causing Lan Fan and Fu to jolt to a halt. His two bodyguards were silent, but their confusion hung in the air.

"Her name _was_ Martel."

**3\. Chandelier**

She marveled at the glittering lights, reflecting soft and sharp beams every which way. The crystals scattered luminosity with a refracted grace; she'd always imagined marrying a rich man and living luxuriously with one even grander than this in her hall.

But her fantasies had been shattered long ago, so she stared at the expensive lights with a little bit of longing and a little bit of dismissiveness. Those were dreams of a different era – a little girl's imagination making the best of the worst. Martel sometimes wished she still had the ability to find the silver lining in clouds, but nowadays she acquiesced to whatever came her way.

And it wasn't always bad. She had her gaggle of companions and they were the best friends she could ask for. Roa was truly a gentle giant, even if his face seemed fierce and he was three times her size. Ulchi was witty and had the best sense of humor. He had his slow, crocodilian saunter and his easy grin. Bido was nervous but endearing; an amicable heart. Martel was particularly good friends with Dolcetto, who bantered with her with the greatest parries of sarcasm and fondness.

Of course, there was Greed. Martel never found his being a homunculus too disturbing – after all, she herself was half-snake. They were the same band of misfits, brought together because of the man. Greed, with his sarcastically slow clap, his not-so-impressed-but-not-too-shabby expression, his warm fur collar vest, and his graceful lounging.

Greed, who put her hand on his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her briefly – but not too long – when he noticed her staring at the chandelier wistfully. He never asked her for an explanation.

Dolcetto and Roa saw, but they didn't mention it either. In fact, the former bounced over to her later with a Frisbee comically clenched between his teeth, persuading her to smile. Roa offered to cook for the night (to which everyone gleefully agreed because Roa was an exquisite chef), Ulchi manned the bar and shut the club for their own private use, and Bido strummed the little banjo he'd picked up in the trash and fixed up a few years back.

So Martel, trapped and alone, remembered that chandelier as clear as day, as brightly as its crystals shone in that abandoned mansion. She saw it spinning slightly, never quite ceasing its rotation, slowly turning and showing to her little glimpses of action. Little slits in the metal through which crimson flashed and the voices of Roa and Dolcetto echoed. She watched a sword mercilessly plunge into one, then the other, and then again and again and again.

She watched Greed struggle to his feet, invincible armor stripped only to his forearms, his lungs gasping and choking for breath. His sunglasses were shattered at his feet, his face was bloodied and his abdomen shred open.

Her world jolted and the chandelier crashed, plunging her into darkness.

When her vision returned, it was but a trick of the light, the beam reflecting off the edge of a sword that descended with terrifying speed.

_She is swinging on the chandelier, high up and alone, and the last thing she sees before the darkness tumbles down is a hand by the light switch._

**4\. Darkness**

His fingers itched to kill but his body was suspended in molasses, coagulated around his joints as if to bind him. His limbs refused to obey him; his skin didn't harden with carbon when he tried. With something akin to disgust blended with apprehension, he locked grips with Ling.

But Ling was frozen as well, a net of terror and nausea wracking their shared body.

"Hey now," Greed began, scowling inwardly, "I'm—"

Ling wrenched free and pushed the homunculus down his throat.

"Ed!" he hollered hoarsely. "Get away from him!"

There was a flash of blonde hair and gold eyes and the arrogant, ravenous shadow that was Pride.

**5\. Wistful**

The throne room was spacious, empty, and somewhat dreary. One of the elders had, once again, finished lecturing him, leaving him dreadfully alone in his large, intricately carved chair.

_Please consider the people_, the elders said. Ling mocked them inwardly. Consider the people? How, by dividing them once more? The question was no more than a matter of principle, an ancient custom. But with such a pigheaded, young emperor at the head of Xing, the elders found it hard to tread carefully and maintain control simultaneously.

After all, they could not help it if the young lord wished not to have a harem of concubines. They couldn't exactly defy the emperor, after all.

But Ling couldn't overturn centuries of tradition, emperor or not.

Nonetheless, being alone in the throne room after having his ear talked off was lonesome, boring, and allowed him to think too much. Perhaps a trip to Amestris was in order. The alone time gave him too much room to miss his foreign companions.

"Lan Fan," he barked, summoning more energy than was currently present in him. _Some equivalent exchange_, he thought.

"Yes, my Lord?" came her soft voice. He beckoned her closer; her expression softened. "What is it, Ling?"

Suddenly, the emperor threw her the nastiest scowl he could muster.

"It's _Greed_," he spat, fingers curling around the arms of his throne. "Get it right."

She was frozen to the spot, mouth agape, looking torn between shock and confusion and terror.

Ling let a few more seconds pass before bursting into laughter, pulling her by her good arm and apologizing multiple times. He was laughing so hard that tears were spilling from his eyes.

"Please don't do that," sighed Lan Fan, shaking her head. A smile graced her lips, far from reprimanding. She gently pulled away, briefly laying a hand on his shoulder before exiting the chambers.

Ling sighed, leaning his chin on his right fist, cheeky grin falling abruptly from his features.

He pondered the back of his other hand, holding it out in front of him.

"It gets quiet, you know," he said. "Really quiet."

**6\. Dreams**

Dolcetto was curled on half the couch, his knees tucked to his chest, Martel slung loosely at his feet on the floor and Roa taking up the rest of the seat. In his typical crocodilian manner, Ulchi sauntered over to the simple board game table with custom-to-order drinks from the bar, relinquishing his daily bouncer duties to enjoy the night off. Bido, however, was nowhere to be seen.

As if reading his mind, Martel voiced the thought.

"Anyone seen Bido? It's game night and he loves game night…" she trailed off, throwing a casual glance up at Greed, who shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'll take a look in the back," the homunculus said, waving. "You guys go ahead and start playing."

"Bring another game back, will ya, Boss?" called Dolcetto eagerly.

"Sure, sure."

Greed ambled past the bar and into the back supply room, knowing that Bido like to neaten up the place at the end of the day. As soon as he opened the door, he found nothing but distinct darkness.

"Bido, you alive?" he snorted, flipping the light switch on.

Just as the room illuminated, a clammy hand shot out and grasped at his trousers, slick and bloody. Greed froze. The fingers were treacherously slippery, yet they crawled up to his knee, to his shirt, to his face. He was nose to nose with Bido, poor, endearingly bald Bido, with his docile, quirky smile and his quick, padding footsteps.

"Bi—"

"You remember me, don'tcha? Mr. Greed," pled the chimera. "You remember, it's me, Bido!"

"I—"

The little upturned smile beneath Bido's hooked nose dropped abruptly. He glanced at his bloodied hands, uncomprehending. The crimson was dripping down his arms, dripping down his chin; Greed was finding himself more and more repulsed by the dark red that seeped into the fabric of his shirt.

"Bido, what are you—"

"Why, Mr. Greed? Why don't you remember me? It's me, Bido." The chimera was infinitely forlorn, blood sputtering from his nose and lips, and suddenly Greed's arm was through the man's chest even though he never remembered putting it there. Merciless. Cold.

Greed hurriedly retracted his arm, now sticky with his friend's insides. He attempted to call out to the others, to Dolcetto or Martel or Roa or Ulchi, and finally, when he couldn't find his voice, he whirled around to see an unfamiliar face.

His own.

"Greed," they screamed, voices disturbingly distorted, agony wrought in the faces he wished he couldn't see anymore. "Greed!"

But they were all dead, dead, dead, and here he was, a limp Bido in his arms without a drop of life left in him.

_I didn't want this_.

_"Greed,"_ they chant, hauntingly. _"Greed, Greed, Greed."_

He never wanted to die, but he didn't want to live again, either.

"Greed."

Greed jolted back to consciousness with a ferocious tug that alerted him to a ripple in the balance. His arms and legs moved without his permission; a voice that wasn't his muttered foreign curses under his breath.

"You said you'd move by daylight again. It's noon."

No answer.

"Hey, you all right?" Ling Yao didn't stir. In fact, he sat cross-legged in the grass and waited for the homunculus to respond. "I guess," he continued, "I'll be taking my body back, then."

Greed's arm shot out and grabbed Ling's.

"No way in hell, kid," he snarled, quickly throwing the Xingese boy to the back of his consciousness and reasserting his command of the body. Ling didn't resist much. He shrugged and let the homunculus have his way, throwing a snarky comment his way before settling back for the ride.

"You were having a nightmare, I think."

Greed got to his feet.

"I don't get nightmares."

"I saw parts of it."

"That's your imagination, kid."

Ling hummed quietly. "No, it's true. You dreamt about that friend of yours you killed."

"I didn't—" Greed began.

"Oh just give up," sighed Ling, exasperated. "You saw all your friends from your past memories and it ended with them all dead. Am I wrong?"

When Greed didn't answer, Ling continued. If they weren't sharing a body, Greed would've wrung the kid's neck.

"Martel. Roa. Ulchi. Dolcetto."

"Shut _up_."

"Bido."

"_I told you to shut up, kid_."

"They're lovely people, Greed."

"You don't know a thing, kid."

"Nah, I do. I can see'em. Right here." Ling placed a palm to his chest, over his heart. "Don't think I don't understand, Greed. I do."

And that was the worst part.

Ling was absolutely right.

**7\. Gold**

It wasn't so much precious metal as it was molten lava. Bile crept up his throat and his stomach lurched, threatening to upheave a nonexistent lunch. His wrists burnt from the leathers ties; his entire body restrained. The heat festered on his skin, burning but not killing because his cells initiated their endless reconstruction. It was melting the hardened carbon shield and he fell prey to the searing, licking flames.

He screamed at them.

"The temperature's _just right!_" he howled, half in pain, half in deranged joy. "I'll be going before you, my siblings!"

He choked then, his words jammed in his throat and his muscles screaming in agony because despite the fact that he was as good as dead, his body still fought all that was death.

He locked eyes with Envy; with Lust; with Wrath.

But never once did Father look him in the eye, not even when the melting gold pot devoured him whole.

**8\. Speed**

He scrambled, fingers clawing at the carpet, at the wood, at the windowsill. The cool night air whistled through his hair and past his ears as he fled. There was no shame in running. Not for him.

Zipping through the Fuhrer's garden and leaping nimbly up the trellises to escape the alerted guards' eyes, Greed stumbled. An impending sense of doom thudded violently with the blood pulsing behind his ears; if he didn't escape the dank lighted pathways, Pride might slink after him, quick as death.

Greed had seen.

The child in Lady Bradley's grasp was no child at all. That was a being of over 300 years, old as time and stronger than them all.

But he hadn't focused on it. He knew it was over the minute Wrath's sword split in half, but not because he'd broken the weapon – because he would perish with the next blow.

So Greed ran, almost carelessly, until he reached a quiet place in the woods amongst the leaves, wondering why it was so hard to forget.

**9\. Soft**

Her hands were like silk, despite what he thought they'd feel like. Well, one of them was like silk. The other was cold metal and leather, an automail limb designed for the express purpose of combat. But her fingers were lithe and firm, yet also mellow, slowly kneading the knots from his shoulders.

"Lan Fan."

"Yes, young lord?"

"Does it still hurt?"

The girl's administrations paused. Her hands retracted from her prince's shoulders.

"You mean about yourself? How are you shoulders?"

Ling Yao whirled around and clasped her wrists, eyes boring into hers with ferocious intensity.

"No, Lan Fan, I meant _you_ and only _you_." He leaned forward so strongly that he nearly knocked her over. The Xingese girl instinctively yawned away from him warily, but his grasp was tight.

"I'm fine."

"Fine?" echoed Ling. He gave her a dubious onceover and shook his head. "You don't look fine."

"If you mean my automail, then yes. I'm fine."

Ling sighed. Greed, inwardly, sighed with him. The girl was downright stubborn, but endearing. The homunculus had let the boy take over momentarily, directly following the fight with Pride. But he'd better be off soon – the Promised Day was dawning.

The prince touched the girl's forearm, her good one, gently, and stood.

"Young lord?"

"It's Greed, toots." He glared at her as her hands fell into her lap. His expression softened, just briefly. "Get it right."

"I'll get it right when you get out of the young lord's body," she quipped smoothly.

Greed smirked.

"Not bad, toots, not bad."

**10\. Visit**

The sign was still up when he reached the old place, descended familiar stairs, and found the lanky bar. He sank into the leather couch facing the coffee table where they played silly board games on Sunday nights.

"This place is depressing. You come here often?"

"Shut up."

Greed rubbed his eyes. He half expected Dolcetto to pop out from behind the bar with a bottle of red wine in his arms, hoping to cheer up his boss. But even when the homunculus wandered behind the granite countertop, no one appeared. Bido's quiet strumming did not fill the silence, and the evening smells of Loa's Cretan filet mignon did not waft from the kitchen. Devil's Nest was quiet and rundown, closed off with the scent of dank emptiness.

He sat at the bar, a lonely, misfit customer stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You gonna order anything?"

"No."

"What do you have?"

"Ulchi ain't here, I'm not gonna touch a thing."

"This _is_ your place, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

"You're sad sight."

"And you think I don't know?" Greed propped his chin up on his hands, elbows on the countertop. Indeed, it was a view as depressing as he felt. The place was vacant, uninhabited, and abandoned.

After a few minutes, he got to his feet and sauntered around the bar's back rooms. Peering in a half-empty bedroom – it had always been empty – that Martel used to stay in, Greed eyed his reflection in the mirror darkly. The plate of glass, slightly cloudy but still functional as a reflective surface, had been Martel's gift one year. The bar was low on funds, but the least the boys could do was fetch the girl a full-length mirror and a decent dress. Though she was never the most feminine of women, Martel had been absolutely delighted. She twirled the red dress flamboyantly, admiring herself in the grimy but serviceable mirror.

After that, they'd gotten Dolcetto a suit so that the two could dance on quiet Friday evenings with the radio on, or visit the snazzy diner that Greed recommended. It had been the only year funds were down. After that, it was a ride that only soared upwards. He was a man who desired everything and did all in his power to obtain.

"It might sound strange, but for some reason I feel like I've been here before, too."

Whenever Greed moved, Ling moved. The Xingese prince's face, his hands, his legs, all of it chipped away at his pride and faith. Everything in the mirror mocked him. Ling's existence mocked him.

"It's okay to miss them."

"Shut _up_, you brat!" Greed snapped viciously. His left hand, tattooed with that cursed seal of Ouroboros, clenched the doorknob so hard his knuckles whitened. The door slammed closed behind him and he stormed back outside, the oppressively heavy hair hitting him like a thick blow to the face. "_Shut up_."

He leaned against the wall, arms folded.

After about an hour, he sank to the ground, knees curled to his chest, aching head buried in his hands. Restlessly, he fumbled with pain, regret, and longing, not noticing the way Ling gently slipped the reins from his hands and began his trek back to Central.

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Listening to _Chandelier_ by Sia

My heart hurts. Oh Greed, oh Greed. D:


	2. twenty hungers

This one's kind of longer...but fun, nonetheless. Most of these are just headcanons/speculations/little ideas.

;D

**Disclaimer: FMA (c) Hiromu Arakawa**

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**.: Appetite for 100 :.**

_**twenty hungers**_

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**11\. Comparison**

He pretended not to notice the rustling in the basement, but the footsteps steadily trek up to where the short brat had taken his lunch break, so he motioned briefly for Heinkel and Darius to get into position. At first, they only spotted the two Briggs soldiers; the girl slipped under their radar.

A feminine screech cut through the air, chillingly high. The two chimera flinched, their sensitive ears shot.

The soldiers sprinted upstairs and whipped the door open, closely followed by the nimble lumbering of Greed's two relatively new henchmen. Greed contemplated letting the soldiers take a shot at Elric, just for the fun of it, so he hops up the stairs two at a time to watch. The black dog wove between his legs and shot upstairs, automail leg slapping against the wood, barking with incessant loudness.

"Who are you?" demanded Darius.

"Who are _you_?!" returned the younger Briggs soldier.

"This dog is _loud_," Greed grumbled, pulling Den by the collar but not before a good chunk was taken out of Darius's behind. The homunculus leaned in to see what the commotion was all about and he caught a good glimpse of Edward Elric's reddened face before the young lady ordered them out and sent them all flying.

_What a gal_¸ Greed sniggered inwardly.

"Can't compare to mine, though," Ling snorted.

"Ah, can't argue there."

If Ling had been a separate person, he would've punched Greed's shoulder affectionately. But of course, he would never actually mention that.

**12\. Hunger**

Facedown, cheek to the wood panels that lined the rickety, old home, stomach so empty he thought he was going to die.

"Hey…Ling?"

If only his lips weren't so dry, maybe he could muster up the strength to answer.

"Or…is it Greed?"

His stomach growled desperately.

"So…h-hungry," Ling managed, mouthing the word _food_ several times before Ed sighed and patted his back.

"Yep, you're Ling all right."

So as Ling restored his strength and practically destroyed Ed's emergency rations supply, Greed waited. He waited for the pangs of loneliness and distress to die down. He waited for Ed to offer him what he wanted to hear.

But he swallowed that thought because he also wanted to be alone.

_It's the hunger of the greedy that truly kills him because he wants two things that contradict, one of which defies his entire being with all its might._

**13\. Fear**

Ling jerked backwards so vehemently that Greed, in control of the body, had a hard time standing still. His head throbbed like thunder was thrashing his brain, blood pounding through his ears with merciless intensity. Growling at Ling to shut up and calm down, Greed attempted to steady himself.

"_Greed_,_" _seethed the prince through gritted teeth. "You have to get out of here. Get everyone."

"Ah?" snorted the homunculus, struggling to keep himself upright. Ling was quaking so hard that he threatened to take over the body. And his head was _burning_.

"Get. Everyone. Out!" Ling lunged from his position and momentarily threw Greed off balance, their shared physical embodiment curling over in pain.

"You little—"

"Ed!" Ling hollered hoarsely. "Get away from Al!"

It didn't matter if Ling warned him.

Pride's shadows slid seamlessly through the grass, licking the shadows of single blades like the moonlight on their shoulders.

**14\. Amusement**

She scrutinized him with curious blue eyes, not quite as innocent as she let on. They quickly analyzed him from head to toe without ever breaking eye contact.

"Ling?"

Greed smirked.

"Eh? You know this guy?" he jerked a thumb at his chest. The girl straightened, somewhat baffled. "The name's Greed."

She stared.

"What?"

**15\. Accidents**

"Well?" Envy sneered, somewhat miserably. Greed would have laughed at his fellow sibling's plight, but the fact that Lust was glaring daggers into him indicated that doing so would not be in his favor. He preferred to keep his number of deaths to a low minimum.

"Well I'm _here_, aren't I?" Greed said. He folded his arms and glanced back at Lust. "What's the plan, then?"

Lust was eerily quiet. For a while, Greed wondered if she'd lost her mind and was wandering elsewhere, but she sauntered up in her daring heels and grabbed him by the arm.

"Find Sloth."

"Okay, why am _I_ the lackey—"

"Unless you want to pull out Envy yourself, you'll go. Now."

"I don't even know where he is," Greed complained, looking down his nose at Lust's terrifying glare.

"He'll probably run off on his own." Envy attempted to wave, but his arm was stuck in the mud.

"Y'know, you're an idiot for getting stuck in the first place."

"How was I supposed to know it was this deep?" demanded the smaller homunculus, writhing in the thick pool of swamp mud.

"How do you forget you weigh, like, twenty tons?"

The two exchanged heated snarls until Lust sighed emphatically.

"Just _go_, Greed."

Greed waved a hand.

"I'll get Sloth, don't you worry. But if you ask me again for a favor in, say, three hundred years, don't count on it."

**16\. Dead Meat**

Dolcetto took one look at Sig Curtis and he immediately wanted to turn and run. Surely, the man was as big as Roa, if not larger. Speaking of Roa, Dolcetto was currently cursing his fellow chimera for ordering him to run errands. One large slab of beef? What kind of beef? Dolcetto was in the mood for ribs but apparently everyone liked filet mignon better.

He shook his head. _Stay focused!_

The poor man realized he'd been standing there for a good minute staring at Sig Curtis chopping meat, saying nothing and breathing very little.

"You all right there?"

Dolcetto whipped around to face the bigger man, startled by the low, rumbling voice.

"Yeah, yeah just fine, thanks."

"Honey, are you talking to someone?" came a woman's voice, lilting through the back door of the shop.

"Just a customer, dear," Sig answered. "What can I do for you today?"

"My, uh, folks are having a party. How much for a couple of slabs of tenderloin?"

"Well we—" Sig froze midsentence as a knife flew towards his customer's head. He caught it with two fingers before the blade reached Dolcetto's head – a mere two inches away – and frowned disapprovingly. "Dear, this is one of the good knives."

"Just testing you, honey." A slender woman with dark hair appeared from behind Sig, presumably his wife. Dolcetto, truly terrified now, was quaking in his boots.

"Izumi, do we have any good cuts of tenderloin?"

"Sure do," the woman sang. "Right here."

Dolcetto decided, upon purchasing that night's roast, that he would never ever in a million years be chosen to buy dinner ever again.

Besides, wasn't Roa half cow?

**17\. Surprising**

"You," Greed said, somewhat incredulous, "are a really good chef."

Dolcetto, still somewhat unsteady in his own shoes, barked stiffly. "Isn't this cannibalism, Roa?"

"How so?"

"Aren't you a cow?"

Most of the bar's inhabitants slowly turned towards the chimera, who looked rather regal in his apron and oven mitts.

"So?"

**18\. Headache**

His head pounded and his neck was weak, too weak to support his skull. He wasn't aware of Roa slinging an arm under his and around his shoulders. At some point, the bigger man slid his boss gently down on the leather couch across from the bar. The homunculus felt like lead.

"Do homunculi get sick, too?" came Bido's nasally but soft voice from behind the counter.

"I guess so," replied Dolcetto. "I mean, Boss says they're just like humans except they've got some cool regenerative abilities and extra lives."

"I guess he can't die from sickness, but he can still get the flu," Ulchi said. They cast a collective glance over at their topic of conversation, trading remarks in low voices.

"How'd he get the flu, anyway?" asked Dolcetto, snorting. "I'm the one that gets sick all the time."

"Sick as a dog," quipped Bido with a laugh.

"Shut up, you get sick a lot too." The canine chimera folded his arms tersely, lips pursed. He motioned to Martel, who had just appeared from Greed's room with an armful of pillows and blankets. "Martel, will ya look after him? You don't get sick."

She glared at him.

"I was _going to, anyway_." She huffed. "It's better than when you get sick, Dol. At least he doesn't start complaining."

"That's because he's out cold!"

Martel ignored the other chimera and knelt by Greed, spilling the pillows and blankets onto the couch so she could organize them. She let the sniggers of her companions slide past her as she struggled to strip Greed of his cumbersome fur collar vest. The man had a kink for leather, but it wasn't doing him much good at the moment. He was shivering but sweaty, feverishly cold. After tucking him in – despite the fact that Greed was rather tall and didn't really fit on the couch – and fluffing a pillow behind his head, she let Bido wring out a cool cloth and put it on the sick man's forehead.

"Sick as a dog," Bido repeated, much to Dolcetto's chagrin.

"I wonder what bug he caught," mused Ulchi.

One of the barmaids popped her head in and peered about. She, along with a few other chimeras, had gone to run errands. This one in particular was one of Dolcetto's good friends, a fellow canine chimera of sorts.

"I have some fever reducers and a thermometer," she whispered, handing a plastic bag over. "Is the boss okay?"

"Caught a bu—"

"Sick as a dog," Bido called. The girl's expression fell to worry.

"Bido, I _swear_," snarled Dolcetto. "One more time and I will cut your tail off."

The lizard chuckled to himself and retreated to his little post in front of the couch with Martel.

"Roa, here's some ingredients. Let's make us some chicken noodle soup." Dolcetto hoisted a second bag onto the counter and nodded approvingly. "We work for the Boss 24/7." He cast a dubious glance at Bido, who grinned. "_Even_ when he's sick as a dog. He always makes chicken noodle soup for us, doesn't he?"

"I didn't know he could cook until the first time you got sick," laughed Ulchi, moving aside as Roa began to sort through the groceries.

"I think it's the _only_ thing he can cook," the bull chimera said quietly.

"Hey guys," Bido whispered, "I think he's waking up."

Greed did, in fact, grimace at the sound of their voices, one hand struggling to reach up to his face but failing because Martel had so skillfully bundled him in a homunculus spring roll. Anticipating his needs, she leaned forward and patted his slick forehead dry with a towelette. His eyes fluttered open slowly.

"Wha-whaddaya doin', Martel?" he slurred, blinking several times. He found himself staring at five chimeras, all peering down on him worriedly. Bido's nose was practically in his face; Greed freed his arm and pushed the lizard away. Dolcetto, on the other hand, was tucked at his feet, as far away from the sniffling homunculus as possible.

"Wakey wakey, princess," Ulchi snorted. A round of giggles passed between himself, Dolcetto, and Bido.

"I will cut your tail off," Greed said groggily, "both of yours."

"He's definitely up." Dolcetto beamed. "Smells good, doesn't it, Boss?"

"I can't smell a thing."

"He means the chicken soup," Martel explained, nodding towards Roa, who had returned to the bar kitchen to monitor the pot of boiling goods.

At this news, Greed's expression faltered.

"You made chicken soup?" he asked quietly. The crew exchanged glances, unsure of their leader's unfamiliar expression. Was it appreciation? Was it incredulity?

"Uh, yeah." Dolcetto rolled his eyes.

"That is _so sweet of you_." Greed grinned sadistically, leapt up from the couch, and tackled Dolcetto, coughing a few times but managing to wrestle the chimera to the ground. "Why don't you enjoy it with me, eh?"

"Boss, I really think you should just chill," Ulchi sighed, as Greed's attack was reduced to a terrible coughing fit.

"Dol, you cracked my ribs."

"Boss, that was your coughing."

"Well my head hurts. That's definitely your fault."

"Then lie down, you big baby." Dolcetto, Martel, and Ulchi dragged their boss back to the couch, where Martel forced a cup of warm tea with honey down his throat whilst rearranging her Greed spring roll.

"Don't. Move."

"Yes'm."

Greed felt himself nodding off again, despite wanting the soup. Under the scrutiny of the ever-watchful Martel and Bido's incessant humming, he grinned. Unbeknownst to them, he was actually very, very happy.

Miserable and sick as a dog, but happy nonetheless.

**19\. Code**

"Just for a second."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"_No_."

"It's a love letter."

"Right. Good one, brat." Greed folded his arms and sat down squarely on the metal pipes he was supposed to guard. He was watchdog of the homunculus sewers, overseer of hundreds of miles of nothingness. Some job.

"No, seriously. Please?"

The only thing keeping him entertained – though he'd never admit it – was Ling Yao's annoying voice in his head. The boy wanted to write a message to his girlfriend and have Greed deliver it. The homunculus was fine with being a boring security guard, but personal mail boy? No.

"You don't have to give it to her, just give it to Ed."

"What are you, my mom?"

"You don't have a mom."

"Touché," growled Greed, wholly unamused now. He trudged to the end of one pipeline, feeling the thrum of energy beneath the soles of his shoes. Where an exit ladder heading up was supposed to be, there were the remnants of steel bars. Lithely, he grabbed the topmost rung, which was still partially intact, and pulled himself out from the underground maze.

"So you'll do it?"

Greed ignored him. He dodged out of the main city and headed for the suburbs, where people were bound to have clothes hanging up outside. The homunculus snatched a ratty, white apron.

"This won't be missed."

"So you'll do it." Ling grinned.

"Yeah, whatever. Don't get too happy about it, brat."

He stripped a piece of cloth from the apron.

"Greed, I need something to right with, you know."

"Well my blood dissolves. Go find your own ink."

Ling pointed to an old farm – a few hands were painting the walls and refurbishing the roof. Greed bounded over with a lively hop, skip, and step, to snatch one of the paintbrushes laden with red paint.

"That'll do."

Greed let Ling take control, but only barely. Enough to scrawl out a few foreign words on the strip of fabric they'd ripped from the apron.

"What's it say?"

"It's a secret." Ling grinned.

Greed, on the other hand, scowled.

**20\. Unexpected**

Ragtime melodies drifted through the air that lazy afternoon, a hot mid-summer Friday with little to no customers expected that night. The town festival had been yesterday, and most of their usual bar-goers were completely spent.

"We have a piano?" one of the chimeras asked incredulously.

"Yeah." Ulchi pointed down to one of the big lounges. "Never been in there?"

The other man shrugged. He was their goods manager, so he hardly came inside the bar. "Nah. Those are for private guests, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Well, who's playin'?" Ulchi got to his feet and made his way to the back room. One look inside, and his eyes widened. "Well, I'll be a roasted lizard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" complained Bido halfheartedly. Ulchi had picked up his weird expressions habit from a girl who used to frequent the bar. He never quite let go of it.

But the crocodile man jerked a thumb at the room, pushing the door open wider so that the music resounded loudly into the main bar area. Most of the chimera crowded around, peering through where they could fit. Bido slunk between their legs and crouched at the threshold while Roa simply towered over them, smiling.

Greed, sitting at the piano, was snapping one hand while the other completed a piano rift so elaborate they could hardly believe he only had two hands. His right foot tapped a rhythm against the hardwood floor.

"From the top," he called enthusiastically, not minding the new crowd that had entered.

Martel, in the red dress they'd gotten her last year, was dancing the swing with Dolcetto. They flew across the wide space, toes barely skimming the floorboards, Dolcetto managing to twirl his partner effortlessly despite the somewhat difficult height difference. The canine chimera had donned a tailored suit – though it wasn't really tailored for him, specifically – fitted at the shoulders but far too long in the sleeves and the body. Obviously, it was Greed's, but Greed hardly ever wore it.

And so there they were, in the back lounge of Devil's Nest, watching Dolcetto and Martel dance while Greed, who they'd assumed to be the least musically inclined, play away at a piano half of them hadn't known even existed.

* * *

Because the first chapter was kind of gloomy, here's some fun and somewhat cutesy Devil's Nest stuff.

;)


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